


Birdsong

by inkberrry



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sylvari (Guild Wars), quiet moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkberrry/pseuds/inkberrry
Summary: During their travels Trehearne and the Commander spend a quiet night growing closer.





	Birdsong

The call of night birds this far from home was oddly unsettling. Their tone was off, their cries just a little too shrill. Instead of the dampening closeness of the tress in the Grove, the hanging, wet vines of Sparkly Fen seemed to repel the sound and send it echoing perversely back into the dark.

  
Trehearne did his best to drown out the noise as he sat cross legged in his tent, bent over a stack of books and parchment. He was no stranger to the unsettling. Spending so much of his time walking the paths of Orr left him with somewhat of an immunity to the shivers that crawled up other’s spines, or the prickled sensation at the back of their necks.

  
Tonight was more difficult than most, however. His mind didn’t care to calm, and each new call from the unknown birds outside felt closer and more ominous than the last. There was no respite in the pages he shuffled through, his hands turning the pages with less conviction than hoped for.

  
He didn’t often let his mind wander, and especially not lately. The world was aching and coming to pieces bit by bit; there was no time to allow his focus to wane. Or so he attempted. Some moments, like tonight with its eerie trill of birdsong, he began to think of other, less pertinent things.

  
In a tent nearby he knew Amwyl was resting. The Commander, like the rest of them, suffered a long day trekking through the marsh and wetlands on their way to Fort Trinity. With luck he was sleeping off the fatigue, or else easing the pain of his various cuts and bruises. Amwyl had many of those, Trehearne knew. Inside and out.

  
It was the outside ones Trehearne worried over tonight. Amwyl was reckless; he leaped into battle before anyone could so much as step forward to join him. Trehearne sometimes wondered if it was the influence of the Mists coursing through him that drove him to impulsiveness. Whatever the cause, Amwyl didn’t often make it through the cycle of day and night without some fresh wound marring him. There were bandages and salves to go around in their small camp, and as he sat, disinterested in his books, Trehearne could almost imagine the look of concentration on Amwyl’s face as he tended to today’s injuries.

  
The thought brought with it a tender smile. Over the last year he spent many nights in camps just like this, watching Amwyl impatiently peel off layers of armor to expose dark skin glowing with golden tendrils  in patterns much like Trehearne’s own. They shared meals together and spoke of their travels and insights, Amwyl from time to time surprising him on the knowledge he gathered so far in his short life. Trehearne felt he was talking to a second born during those moments, and one born not long after they started to emerge.

  
Amwyl wasn’t a second born, though. Or a third, or a fourth. He confessed early on to Trehearne that he awakened only two years before they met. But like many noon blooms, he was out of the Grove and into the world as fast as his feet could carry him. Perhaps that was where the knowledge came from, and certainly the eager, excited look in his eyes whenever they encountered something new to him.

  
It was endearing — that orange, gold flecked glimmer. Like fire, raising up inside his body and finding its way out to warm those around him. Trehearne felt it’s heat more and more often as the distance between the two of them closed further each day. He had met many saplings over the years and seen many grow into fine characters, but there was something different about Amwyl. Or at the very least, something that made him different to Trehearne.   

   
As if conjured by Trehearne’s thoughts of him, Amwyl’s voice drifted through the canvas tent, disturbing the birdsong and buzz of night bugs.

  
“Trehearne?” Quiet but unmistakable, Amwyl called out again. “Are you in here?”

  
“Yes, I’m here.” Trehearne looked toward the flap of the tent and saw it flutter, the long fingers of his fellow slyvari holding it and hesitating. “Come in, Amwyl.”

  
Hesitation gone, Amwyl entered the small space. His body seemed to fill more of it than it should, demanding Trehearne’s complete attention. He was content to give it, though a lingering sense of embarrassment stole over him when his eyes caught on the banded muscles of Amwyl’s bare arms.

  
“It’s pretty late, you know,” Amwyl said, drawing Trehearne back to his voice. He was glad to look up and catch the somewhat unusual expression on Amwyl’s face — a mix of excitement and nerves. It was then Trehearne realized he was holding something, and when he spoke next offered it out.

  
“Here, I have something for you.”

  
“For me?”

  
Trehearne reached for the stone mug in Amwyl’s hands, immediately feeling the warmth travel out of it and into him. Steam rose above the rim, discernible only when the candlelight flickered in their direction.

  
“It’s chocolate and milk, fresh from the fire,” Amwyl said, and the excitement won out in his eyes, pushing its way past whatever reason he had for nerves. “I added some mint leaves too.”

  
It took Trehearane a moment to put Amwyl’s words in order, though by now his gifts of sweets and snacks should not have come as a surprise. It was the thoughtfulness behind them, though, that never failed to touch Trehearne.

  
“Hot chocolate?”

  
“You looked worn down tonight,” Amwyl said, confirming Trehearne’s guess with a nod. “And…I kind of only know how to make people feel better with food.”

  
A year ago Trehearne may have believed Amwyl. He knew better now, after so many long conversations and comforting, soothing glances. The thought that he didn’t believe in his own power over Trehearne was almost comical, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  
“I believe you’re selling yourself short, Amwyl,” he said, and lifted the mug to his lips. The steam continued to rise, releasing a heavenly sweetness to the air. “It smells delicious.”

  
Taking the compliment to heart, Amwyl smiled bright enough to eclipse the candle flames. For an instant it was all Trehearne could focus on; the books scattered around him and the odd, disturbing birdsong were so long forgotten they may never have existed in the first place.

  
“Would you like to stay?”

  
The words left him easily. More easily than most, and with more conviction.

  
“Yeah, I would.” Amwyl’s answer came fast. He took a few steps deeper into the tent, letting the canvas close behind him until the rest of the world was shut out. “Can I?”

  
Trehearne nodded and within a few blinks of his eyes Amwyl was sitting next to him, all shine and honed edges and soft, warm heat. His breathing so close was a welcome, familiar sound, pulling Trehearne forward through the mist and fog settled in his mind. He set the mug down, preferring instead to get his heat from Amwyl’s hand laced with his.

  
Tonight the thoughts of battle plans and rituals would wait. Amwyl was the here and now, _and by the Pale Tree,_ Trehearne was falling in love with him. In this world, so close to rending and coated with despair, a new, tender shoot was growing. It was fragile still, held up by careful moments of intimacy and touch, but growing all the same.

  
Trehearne would care for it, provide it nutrients and sun to flourish. He would stay by Amwyl’s side as long as he was able and nourish the bond that wrapped them together. And when their Hunts were over, when the world was quiet and safe and whole, he would hold what they grew together in a tight embrace and never, ever let it wither. 


End file.
